


Nick

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vignette, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Paul’s admitted to sickbay again.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Nick

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s been a slow day, and Hugh’s in the back, compiling his daily report in the relative quiet of a calm sickbay. Then the doors whisk open, and he glances up, the mood already shattered. Paul comes hobbling inside, his pale gold wings fully extended, one smacking into the doorway as it passes and the other bent at an odd angle. Hugh winces just to see it. Tilly’s half holding the broken wing, and her frenetic energy fills up the entire room. Hugh’s quietly groaning, but Tilly’s spluttering nonstop, “I’m _so_ sorry, Lieutenant, it’s all my fault, if I’d just been watching where I was going—but I totally thought that you’d already left—of course, that’s no excuse! I’m not making excuses! I’m sorry, really—”

“Tilly,” Paul grits out, wing twitching in her grasp. “It’s _fine_.” It comes out so tightly, so strained, but she still snaps to attention. He turns to tell her, “ _Go_. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look fine. Tilly winces—she can obviously see that. Her red wings, so tiny in comparison, flex with her distress, but they stay folded, as they should inside a busy starship. Hugh comes forward and adds, “Thank you, Tilly. I can take care of it from here.”

She shoots him an apologetic look, but she does leave, back towards the exit with a plethora of apologies. As soon as the doors close behind her, Paul slumps, as though he’s shed a great weight. Hugh knows that Paul’s become quite fond of her, but he can still understand how it must have been a trying trip up from Engineering. 

Hugh guides Paul over to one of the bio-beds and can’t resist scolding, “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

Paul gives him a scandalized look that has a grin tugging at the corner of Hugh’s mouth. Paul settles down, perched on the edge of the pseudo-mattress, and Hugh paces around it, coming to stand between Paul’s outstretched wings. His own are a much darker colour, folded back, almost completely flat, as Paul’s should be any time that he’s on duty. For Tilly to have bumped into them, Paul must’ve had them out to an extent, which gives Hugh some doubt when Paul insists, “It was hardly my fault!”

Hugh doesn’t ask what did happen. It was obviously an accident, and it’s irrelevant now. He lifts his tricorder to the small of Paul’s back, trailing slowly up to assess the damage. Paul looks over his shoulder and asks, “You can fix it, right?”

“I can,” Hugh answers, “But I only will if you promise to be more diligent with your own well being.”

Paul scoffs. “I was doing quite well, thank-you-very-much. ...It’s just that I had a minor breakthrough, and you know how I get when I’m excited—”

“Careless?” Hugh fills in, which has Paul letting out a breath of palpable annoyance. Hugh’s grin twitches wider—he knows exactly what happened. Paul’s _such_ a scientist. He gets completely buried in his work, to the point where he hardly acknowledges the world around him. And then some little piece of information will come along and get his heart racing, and his wings will twitch with excitement, extending for a moment, whether or not there are other people around to startle. It’s an adorable but unhealthy habit that Hugh really needs to break him out of. Hugh retires the tricorder and begins massaging the thick plumage extending through the slits in the Paul’s uniform. They’re fortunate that the damage is relatively minor. It must be uncomfortable, and it’s clearly preventing Paul from folding back his wings, but Hugh can heal it by hand. He begins to do so, humming, “Alright, I’ll fix it. But only because they’re so lovely to look at.”

Paul mutters, “Pot calling the kettle black,” and twists back to gratefully peck Hugh’s cheek.


End file.
